The First Journal

BLADE.

3 Shemu 1437 BCE, THEBES

It was never enough.

The passages in the Book of the Dead seemed to dance and morph, twisting into new symbols, taunting me with echoes of my fears in the voices of those whose lives I had taken. The more I delved into its cryptic pages, the further it veiled its secrets; a cruel damning mockery orchestrated by its guardian Osanekht. These haunting thoughts clung to my mind like shadows, and my gaze drifted to Tiy's lifeless form. I had preserved her as best I could, kissing her cold lips in a futile attempt to reawaken her as she once was; yet each time she rose, she was less herself and more a lifeless servant - a reflection of my fleeting desires. I selfishly kept her a prisoner of this realm, until only a decaying husk remained.
Her dark curls peeled off her scalp in frail disarray, and her supple flesh once ripe with life, grayed and melted with death. I could no longer bear the stench of my mistake.

Over the next 70 days, I prepped her for mummification. I purified her remnants with water from the Nile, washing what remained of her hair and skin. Carefully, I removed her organs, placing them in ornate jars. I coated her body in preserving salts, protecting her from further decay. How I wish I had done this earlier, knowing now that my kiss would never truly resurrect her.
I anointed her skin with rose, juniper, and lotus oils, the fragrances that once imbued her sweat as our skins sparked into flames and my lips brushed her breasts into moans. I filled her body with sand to maintain its form and wrapped her meticulously in layers of linen. Finally, I placed her within a beautifully decorated wooden coffin, which, in turn, was nested within a larger one, bearing intricate hieroglyphics and images to guide her soul in the afterlife.

–

I continue to labor with the Book of the Dead, endless days and nights passed in my quest to master its elusive scripture. Amid the inscrutable words, I felt its guardian's sinister rasp echoing deep in my gut, a phantom hand squeezing my throat in warning shall I continue to dig where I did not belong. Despite the fear it sought to instill, I pushed forward, driven by a relentless need to unravel its secrets - The sole force propelling my eternal existence was the promise of a cure.

I uncovered its thirst, much like mine it craved blood. Just as I had opened it with my own vitae, I would decipher its riddles the same. I bled upon its pages, watching in fascination as my life essence sculpted the longed-for revelations. Crimson weaved with ink and amidst the arcane verses, I stumbled upon a reference to a blade, an artifact forged from my Maker's very bones. The clue was a mere whisper, hinting at its hidden location, and I knew that I couldn't embark on this quest alone.

–

I had prowled the shadowed depths of night, seeking those who walked the precarious line between virtue and vice. My path guided me to Kheti, a man whose honest labor filled the day, yet when the night's shroud descended, he unveiled a world of contraband. Hidden in the shadows, I observed as he heaved crates from the papyrus boats, secreting them beneath the cover of darkness to unlocked the chests' concealed treasures. Within were stolen gems, exotic spices, and forbidden artifacts - whatever the cloaked figures within the hidden alleys of illicit commerce demanded, Kheti delivered. In his duality, I found my first ally, luring him with the promise of power he agreed to journey for the blade. With his connections and clandestine expertise, Kheti was a priceless addition, but I would be no fool, I knew better than to rely solely on one man.

To balance this alliance, I sought the wisdom of Imhotep, a priest versed in the mystic realm of ancient deities and the magic that intertwined with our world. With his profound understanding, he agreed that the artifact held the key to unraveling my cursed existence. He believed it would rebalance the scales I had tipped, and safeguard the delicate equilibrium of our realm. Despite his flexible morals, I sensed that Imhotep could be the buffer I needed to quench my fears, were Kheti to betray me.

I sent the two on an ostensibly impossible mission to unearth my Maker's blade, and their initial discord vexed my careful plans. While Kheti believed its power would grant him wealth, Imhotep believed the blade's retrieval would restore balance and absolve him. To maintain their alliance, I resorted to the artistry of deception, knowing that, for now, the retrieval of the artifact outweighed truth. I wove promises like threads of fine linen, each tailored to their individual desires, gently tugging the strings of their aspirations to ensure they harmonized in fulfilling my quest.

Thirty-five long nights passed before they returned and with them, the artifact I so desired. My newfound alliances had borne fruit. My hopes soared that the secrets concealed within this ancient relic would pave the way to break the shackles of my immortality. My cold touch smoothed the hieroglyphics etched deep into the blade's bone; with each new symbol the truth unveiled as I realized they mirrored the ancient scars that adorned my very flesh. With the Book of the Dead as my guide, I endeavored to decipher their meaning and it spoke to me at last: Only with the blood of my blood would I find true death.

As this discovery bore unbearable, I realized my Maker's blade - as he had made me - could undo me; The only weapon in existence that could end my life and only in true death would I find the peace I sought.